


A Healer's Tale

by guren666



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A very loose might I add, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, I Tried, I highly recommend reading my previous works first, M/M, Rating May Change, Sequel, Slow Burn, So plz read my Glorfindel and Ondolemar trilogy, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers, Warnings May Change, bosmer healer oc, characters and tags will be added as chapters progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guren666/pseuds/guren666
Summary: A simple fetch errand turns into something more complex. Enildil, a bosmer healer finds himself in the wrong place at a wrong time, sandwiched between the savage Nords of Reach and Legion soldiers. In a moment, the Legion forces are all but decimated, all except one Nord who saves Enildil's life.It's only fair he returns the favor, right?





	1. Healer and Soldier

As per the instructions, he went to a spring to gather some water with highly restorative effects. Although, he never saw it coming; how he got stuck between a battle in the middle of wilderness.

Some of the highly hostile native Nords known as Forsworn staged a surprise attack on Legion soldiers. And he, Enildil was the unlucky guy who was caught off guard.

 

It all happened so fast, most of the soldiers were dead before they could drew swords. Enildil, too would have been dead were it not for a Nord with a shield. He deflected most of the arrows that rained down upon them, but some strays hit the mark; the Nord hissed in pain and clenched his jaw, grabbing a hold of the fearful bosmer healer. A rough sound of flesh and iron parting was all he heard before the arrows cluttered on the ground. The Nord was wounded, he won’t last long without medical attention... probably.

More than majority of people would be worried for their own lives, but not this soldier. The Nord’s attention was turned toward Enildil.

“Run, run away.”  His voice was hoarse, dry.

Enildil took a quick look on the battlefield littered with Legion soldiers corpses. This doesn’t concern him. He could run away, as the Nord advised. But, something in him stopped him from cowardly turning tail. The Nord didn’t seem like a bad sort and abandoning someone in dire need of help was against his new set of morals.

Sometimes, even a healer can be a lethal opponent, given the right tools. The Forsworn were moving closer, as the bosmer eyed a bow and a quiver with arrows. “Move to the left, closer to that bow.” He whispered and the Nord gave him a questioning look. “There’s no time for arguments, you want to die here!?” Enildil made his point. “No, it’s not my time yet.” Was his reply.

 

“Good. Then move. We don’t have much time!” He instructed and the Nord shuffled towards his fallen comrade who still grasped a bow in hands. Enildil shadowed after him, as he quickly grabbed it, along with five arrows from the quiver. More than enough for his little plan. He’ll give ‘em a little fireshow.

 

“Stand back!” He warned the Nord, as he himself took several steps back. The healer placed the five arrows on the bowstring, taking his time to aim high above them, where the Forsworn retreated, sensing something was up. Unfortunately for them, that ridge was steep and fully covered in grass.

He launched them high in the sky, above the heads of Forsworn savages. The healer dropped the bow, his fingertips were getting warmed up...

Waves of blazing, hot fires were fired in the sky, lighting up the arrows. They rained down, the fire was spreading rapidly in the woods. And the trapped Forsworn had one choice – jump down to face them or die in the flames.

With nowhere else to go and given one option, the wild Nords jumped down from the fangs of flaming hell to them. However, seeing as the Nord soldier wasn’t moving, it was all up to him. And to think tonight he wished for a quiet stroll through the woods.

                                             

Those savages left him no choice, he disliked senseless killing. It was one of the reasons he became a healer. But, even a peace loving acolyte like him can prove to be a deadly foe. If it’s a fight they want, he will deliver. He quickly switched to lightning magic, the small thunder cracks weren’t just for show, you know. Looking around, the bosmer picked up a steel shortsword from a fallen soldier, the sword’s edge was keen.

He stood in front of the wounded Legion soldier. “Let me handle them.” He exclaimed, unsure if the guy was even paying attention, but he managed to nod.

That was the encouragement Enildil needed. A woman, taller than him was coming at him at high speed, brandishing twin daggers. Bosmer merely tsked, ducking from the danger as he hit her with the thunderous velocity, which blasted her away. Knocked out or dead; either way she was out of the equation. Next up was a caster, like him. His mistake was not bringing a close range weapon to the fight. It was a basic slip-up most Nords did. Be always prepared for any kind of situation. His Valenwood training wasn’t for naught.

His opponent casted advanced freezing spells at them, but Enildil was two steps ahead. He casted a protective ward, shielding himself and the man behind him best he could, all while he aimed – and threw. The steel sword buried in spot above heart. The man let out a pained grunt, a few curses and fell.

The archers who were still up all froze as in they were rooted in spot. Enildil’s magicka was halfway drained, but he has enough for a big fireball, enough to roast them to death.

Remains of his magicka was gathered in his palms. He exhaled sharply, yelling at the Forsworn on the ridge. “You chose a wrong target. Now ya’ll die!”

Ensnared by the fiery circle and more incoming blazing fire, the archers were panicking. Enildil watched them burn, their screams resonated in his ears. 

Once their desperate cries stopped, he turned his back on the fires above, facing the downed Nord. He approached, putting on a hopefully friendly face. “It’s over. Can you stand up?” The acolyte offered his help, reaching out his hand.

The Nord skeptically looked at him, then at the destruction he wreaked, all to save his life. This elf was more than just a simple healer. He must have had military training in the past.

He took the offered hand, a bit wobbly on the feet. That’s when he saw a movement from the flames above, then an inhuman roar. A big, buff man jumped down, emerging from the flames unscathed.

Where his heart should be was a hole filled with something he couldn’t quite make out. With all weight, the new enemy tacked Enildil who got the air knocked out of him in the process. They fell on the ground and tussled. He clawed his face, tried to kick him off, punch him in the face, all in vain. It was as if he didn’t feel pain.

Legion soldier watched in pure horror as his savior got taken down so easily. Enildil threw another punch, the giant man caught his hands and the crushing grip was too much to handle. The savage man – beast punched the bosmer in the jaw. He could feel the coppery taste on his lips, but he refused to give in.

His resolve must have shown on his face, for the man – beast was infuriated, grabbing him by the neck with intent of strangling. Instantly, the healer tried to push him off, even sucker punched him, but the man didn’t flinch, his grip only tightened. Choking for air, his mind blurry. The man must have a weakness!

Then his eyes fell upon the weird substitution for a heart, but he couldn’t move.... his body was going numb. No, he can’t give up. It took all his willpower to reach out towards the gaping hole in the savage’s chest, his fingers eluded the object by a few inches.

So, that’s it. He always knew his good intentions will be his undoing...

Enildil was about to black out, when suddenly the enormous hands were pried off him and he could breathe freely again. He coughed, regaining a sense of his bearings.

The Nord he saved just repaid the favor. He was on all four, bleeding from the upper leg, but still he managed to crawl over to him and rip out that abomination’s ‘heart’ and save him from asphyxiation. With an utter expression of disgust, he threw it away and he glanced at Enildil who quickly checked on his throat for injuries. Luckily, his throat didn’t suffer permanent damage.

Relieved, he stood up and hobbled to the soldier. “You look comfortable down there.”

He scoffed. “Just help me get back to my feet.”

 

“Sure, sure. Also let’s get away from this ambush site, shall we?” Enildil picked him up (with a few protests and clenched teeth) as he helped him walk.

 

Finding a relatively safe spot wasn’t so easy as he thought at first. Plus the sky was getting darker and darker and it was harder to see as they were literally stumbling in the dark. If the healer learned anything from his stay in Skyrim so far, it was that abandoned roads and woods were seldom really abandoned.

Soldier’s wounds were in need of patching up or else he risks a nasty infection, which will spread. They were in luck. A hunters outpost hut was in sight. It wasn’t in use, so they could hide out there from the night’s elements. “Just a bit more. Stay with me, good man. I’ll do my best to help you.” He said, earning a soft smile from the Nord.

“Thank...you...”

“Shh. Don’t speak. That arrowhead must have been soaked in some potent poison, but fear not. I’ll heal you.”

 

“Why are you... helping...?”

It was a good question. Bosmer healer shrugged. “Nord, Altmer, Khajiit, Nord. It doesn’t matter. If someone needs help, I try to lend a hand.”

“Is it because of... your... healer conviction?” He asked and the beads of sweat formed on his forehead from too much effort. “Speak no more. And yes, partly.”

They made it to the hut’s door. With free hand he opened it and he fumbled inside with the Nord, supporting him as they inched to a cot. Not a bed, but it will do. Very carefully, he set him down, minding the wounded leg.

 

Enildil searched for something in his belt pouch. After a bit of poking, he found it. It was a small vial, filled with the healing spring water. This small bottle he was tasked to retrieve almost cost him his life. But now, it might save another. If the rumors turn out to be true.

He neared the cot and undid the cork that sealed the vial. “If it’ll sting then it’s working. It’s supposed to neutralize most kinds of poison and make the wounds heal faster. Now let’s see...” He murmured under his breath, pouring some of the clear liquid into the wound. Immediately, the soldier yelled out, trashing around. Enildil held him down, observing as his face contorted into a pained grimace, then it slowly faded and the wrinkles around his eyes softened. He stopped moving, closing eyes shut.

 

Taking in deep breaths, he seemed to relax. The bosmer inspected the wound. It looked like the healing power of the spring water was no myth; it really worked. Now then, time to staunch the bleeding and heal up the wound completely. That’s what healers do after all.

Sealing up the vial again, he put it back in the pouch. It was a shame he didn’t bring any bandages, oh well... 

He tore off the sleeve of his robes. Good, now for some water... please don’t make him use up that little from that spring he has. Enildil couldn’t be bothered going to that spring twice. He retreated to the other room, looking for a pitcher.

Seems like the gods were on his side today, he found it on a table, along with a bowl. He poured some of the contents into the bowl and hurried back to the soldier.

Tearing his sleeve up in two, he watched for reaction. When none came, he doused one part in water, leaning in to clean the wound. Yet again, no verbal protests, in fact he didn’t even bat an eye. Either he had nerves of steel or the spring water numbed his senses. Probably the latter.

Once he was satisfied with it, he tossed the bloody cloth away. Enildil focused his magicka on the cleaned out wound, casting Grand Healing.

The would closed up fully and the healer smirked, despite feeling drained of all energy. But he wasn’t done yet. It might be healed, but every proper healer knows that’s half of the job. Once the soldier can move again, his work is done.

Looks like they are spending the night. They’ll need to stay warm. That means he needs to gather some wood and probably make something to eat, so the Nord can regain stamina faster.

It’ll be just like the old times, back in Valenwood...

He stood up, ready to make a move for the door, when a surprisingly warm hand grabbed his. The Nord opened one eye, looking at him as if in a haze. “What’s your name?”

 

“Enildil.” He replied promptly.

 

“My name’s Hadvar.”

That’s a nice name. He liked it. “Alright then. Hadvar, I’ll go gather some wood and maybe hunt. Shouldn’t take me long. If you see anyone entering this hut, just shout loudly. I have good ears. Now rest up.”

 

He closed his eye and relaxed on the cot, breathing rhythmically in and out. The bosmer smiled shortly, leaving the recuperating Nord behind in the hut.

 

 

Enildil knew becoming a healer wouldn’t be easy, but god damn Danica could have given him a less complex and life threatening task.

At the very least, he saved one life today. When the woman hears about his heroic save, she’ll be ecstatic for sure. He couldn’t really tell with her. That priestess was still a mystery to him. Most healers don’t become healers because it’s their lifelong dream. Some like him want to atone for their past sins. And what’s better than saving lives of innocent and the ones in need?

 

Enveloped in semi darkness, he slithered among the trees like a predator stalking its prey, on the lookout for unwary woodland animal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A while later, he had two rabbits slung on the back, while he carried a few logs of wood in his hands. Enildil was no stranger to surviving in wilderness.

 

He came back into the hut, started a fire (quite easy if one knows fire spells) and began on preparing the rabbits. He heard shuffling on the cot. Curiously, he turned to see the man sleeping soundly on his right side.

 

 

Something about this situation strongly reminded him of home. And he felt a bit homesick.

Also curious about the Nord, Hadvar. But questions can wait until tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Enildil finished cooking and without further ado, he put down the furs in the other room and covered himself as best as he could. Tiredness overcame him and he fell into a deep slumber.

 


	2. Good News?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadvar and Enildil hardly speak a word, until the Legion captain tries to ease the tension between them. However, he asks a personal question that only makes it worse. So it's no wonder both mer and man feel relief when they reach Karthwasten and each go their separate ways.
> 
> Back in Whiterun, the bosmer learns something he never saw coming.

Thick rays of sunshine woke him up, pricking his still sleepy eyes. He stirred, setting the furs aside.

Enildil suppressed a yawn, getting up to check on his ‘patient’ and his well being. When he entered another room, he wasn’t surprised to see Hadvar still asleep.

Maybe it was a bit irresponsible of him to get some rest, but he’s only a mortal like anyone else. Thankfully no one ambushed them and killed in their sleep.

 

He ought to feed him and then depart. The wound’s healed up, he should be able to make it back to... wherever he was going. Probably Solitude, to file his report. A whole squad annihilated, he can’t possibly know how it feels. It’s why he ran away from home, from his family.

Were it not for them...

 

The bosmer shook head. He’s safe from them. For all he knows, he was declared dead long time ago. He walked up to the cooking pot, eyeing the rabbit stew he made yesterday. Initially, he wanted to feed the guy yesterday, but he was so much tired he didn’t have the heart to wake him. Well, he can always reheat it.

He up the few remaining logs under the pot and set the wood on fire with magic (who needed flint when one commanded basic destruction magic, right?) and stirred the contents with a ladle. As he was looking around for something he could pour the stew in, the Nord started moving on the cot.

“Oh, you’re awake. Feeling any better?” He spoke up nonchalantly. “My head is killing me, feel like I have a broken skull... but otherwise I’m fine.”

 

 

It’s probably nothing, just his tiredness making itself be known. Enildil bit into his lower lip, pondering as he dispensed the rabbit stew into two bowls. He provided a spoon, too as he gave it to Hadvar, who thanked him.

He sat up, eating gratefully and slowly.

Meanwhile, the healer took a seat on the wooden floor, digging into his food. Between chewing and swallowing the chunks of meat seasoned with herbs and some salt, he thought about questioning the soldier. Mainly to satisfy his curiosity. Chances are they’ll never meet again, so where’s the harm.

Putting his half way finished bowl of stew aside, he looked at the red haired male. He didn’t get much of a closer look yesterday, with all the fighting, healing and whatnot, but now when he was so close, he could see his eye color. His eyes were each different color, contrasting with red, short mane.

Hadvar caught him staring, he raised a brow questioningly at the bosmer who didn’t seem bothered by the intense staredown between them. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

 

“Like what?” He fired back right at him, not leaving room for empty silence. “It’s my eyes, isn’t it? Even now I get random stares from people. They are unusual, some even go as far and stay away from me. There’s a very old Nord saying that people with two different colored eyes are cursed. It’s a bogus story.”

Enildil couldn’t hold back the laughter that ensued. That wasn’t the reaction Hadvar was expecting. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just so funny. I personally don’t find your eyes scary. They are normal. Now, elven eyes... that’s a different story. Strangers that come for healing to the temple often rather choose my colleagues for the services. They say my eyes are ‘bloodcurdling’ or they outright say they don’t want to be treated by a wood elf. Of course, mostly only Nords say that stuff to me. Living in a Nord city can be challenging for a bosmer like me.”

 

“What city are you presiding in?” Hadvar resumed his eating and Enildil yawned. “Uhm, currently I live in Whiterun, with the priests of Kynareth. I offered healing services there until recently.  A week or so ago, a woman who could be called my boss send me on a little fetch quest. I’ve heard of the barbarian Nords living in the Reach mountains, just never encountered them, until I found myself in the midst of an ambush.”

 

Hadvar was done with his meal, he put the bowl down on the floor, his hands took a handful of his red hair in a frustrated manner, as if he wanted to tear it out. “Yesterday, I lost my men. They trusted me. I was their captain. It’s my fault, if it weren’t for my idea to take that shortcut...”

Enildil interjected, clearing his throat. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry for your comrades, but blaming yourself won’t bring them back. Find solace in the fact you avenged them.”

 

“I’m... you’re right. General Tulius won’t like my report, but I won’t lie to save my position. If I am demoted, then so be it. I clearly wasn’t ready to assume the post of captain. I am a failure.” Hadvar squeezed so hard on the fabric of his uniform that he left it slightly wrinkled. 

The Nords and their heroic plight and guilt. He rolled eyes and stood up, completely forgetting his portion of stew. Hunger was forgotten as he wanted to leave the Reach as soon as possible. The sooner the better.

“Whether that’s true or not is only up to you to decide. If you thought yourself unworthy, then why did you take the post in the first place. Give that a thought.” He offered his two septims to the debate, to which Hadvar stopped lamenting, his knuckles clenched.

Enildil approached him, offering his hand. “Come on. Until we reach the main road, we have the same ground to cover. Then we go our separate ways.”

 

Hadvar smiled curtly, taking the hand and pulled himself up to his feet. Overnight, his strength was regained, he should carry on with his journey back to Solitude. There were some urgent news and summons back to barracks, all units were to return from the field. He wondered what it could be. And if it had anything to do with his friends.

 

The bosmer came out of the hut as first, checking if he had everything. Then the Nord came out, carrying only a dagger on his belt for protection. “Will you be alright? Your trek is much longer than mine. I’ll get a coach in the nearest town, but what about you?”

Hadvar knew he was very poorly equipped, but he didn’t want to see the faces of his dead brothers and sisters in arms again. “I’ll be fine. I won’t wander off the main roads, I need to get back to Solitude.”

Alright then, it wasn’t like they were friends. Now that he thought of it, since he came from Cyrodiil to Skyrim, he didn’t make any friends. Merely acquaintances. Hadvar will be no exception.

 

“Let’s get moving.” Hadvar brought up after the silence fell upon them.

“Yeah, let’s.”

 

Enildil and Hadvar started walking at a moderate pace, side by side, but still in a respectable distance. After all, they were total strangers.

Badly, he felt he needed to end the silence that ensued. Footsteps and birds chirping high above their heads was the void that filled the insufferable stillness. It’s not like he disliked some peace and quiet; quite the opposite. But when he was walking next to someone, he wanted to talk.

A flash memory ran through his mind. Ten years ago, he was walking and laughing with his family. Then the flames hit the tree trunks.

 

“You look pale all of sudden. Are you well?” Hadvar’s loud voice brought him back to present. He looked at him, shaking off the distant memory. “Yes, I’m fine. I was reminiscing.”

 

“Mind if I ask what about?” Hadvar threw the question between them.

Yes, he minded. A lot. He barely knew him, what gave him the impression he would tell him anything about himself. “I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry.” He retorted dryly, the mood dropped drastically.

 

Sensing he might have hit a sensitive topic, Hadvar decided it would be best if he didn’t ask more questions. Clearly the elf wasn’t about to tell him. And he was a fool for asking.

Time passed on and morning was replaced by afternoon. Hadvar occasionally took a few secret glances at the elf’s profile when he wasn’t paying attention to him.

His skin was light tanned, he sported auburn short hair, he had defined cheekbones so characteristic to all elven races. And his eyes were outlandish. Of course Hadvar has seen his share of elves in his life. But this elf had peculiar feature that stood out. He’d never seen such warm brown eyes in his life.

Before he was caught, he focused on the road ahead. They took frequent breaks. Finding random tree stumps to rest their legs or stumbling across a small water source. They kept talking to minimum.

 

Hadvar and his quiet travelling companion finally reached the edge of a small town, Karthwasten. Enildil spotted a coach standing by not far. A wave of relief washed over him. Waiting for another coach would have made him impatient.

Quickly, to get it over with, he sternly nodded towards Hadvar. “I’ll be taking my leave. Please be careful on your journey.” He said very officially and it came off very standoffish, but the Nord understood.

Theirs was a chance meeting, nothing more. He’ll more than likely never see the bosmer again.

“You too be careful. Thank you for saving my life.” He held out his hand for the respectful handshake. Enildil shook the hand and let go before Hadvar could properly return the favor.

“Farewell.”

“May the gods watch over you in battles.” He said the commonly used phrase and the healer simply smirked, turning around.

Hadvar watched him walk away to the coach, his lips formed into a smile. He couldn’t shake of the feeling he’ll see the healer someday. It was a certainty he felt in his heart – Hadvar knew that someday he will cross paths again with his friends. They were bound by the shared fate of the Heart they absorbed.

 

The coach disappeared from his sight, so he walked out of town to his next stop, Dragon Bridge, where the Legion had an outpost. He’ll arrive there pretty late, but a thought of a nice cool pint of ale and proper bed allured him.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Enildil let out a weary sight, sitting in the coach without having to walk the miles was much more comfortable. He leaned on the wooden balustrade of coach, his eyes were trailed on the orange colored sky above.

It was amusing, in a way. He met a Nord who looked in his eyes, only one who did that was Danica, but that woman was a living epitome of kindness which was rare nowadays. How come he didn’t look away, like all others.

A captain, huh.

Closing eyes, he thought about a possible life he escaped.

What would be his rank in Thalmor, if he didn’t run away ten years ago?

 

It didn’t matter. He never wanted to be in their ranks, not after what they did to his clan. They claimed them to be the barbarians, brassy uncivilized elves. But it was the Thalmor who took them from their burned down homes to serve them. The hypocrisy in their acts.

Due to no small part of luck, he escaped the forced servitude/slavery within the nick of time. While his family was taken away.

He wasn’t proud of it. Abandoning family to save his own hide was cowardly. On that day roughly ten years ago he swore he’ll get them back someday.

If they are still alive.

 

Until that day comes, he survives. The lateness got to him and he fell asleep, the coach was steadily taking him back to Whiterun.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Another day has dawned. Enildil woke up while the coach was crossing the road next to Pelagia Farm. They were close, he could see the city above them.

He straightened on the seat, looking forward to a meal and maybe some work later in the temple.

Twenty minutes later, the coach stopped by the stables, where Enildil disembarked, swiftly jumping off.

Setting his sight on the front gates, he sauntered forward, paying no attention to the Hold guards who couldn’t let a snide comment slide as he passed by.

 

He thought of getting a well deserved pint of ale or maybe some wine in Bannered Mare, then head back to Temple of Kynareth. Enildil’s attention was caught by a rather large crowd. It blocked majority of the market. He hurried along the main street, until he reached the stairs and the crowd. He recognized Ahlam, his colleague. He tapped her shoulder. “Oh, you’re finally back! How was your trip?”

“We’ll get to that... but first, what in Auri – El’s name is going on here?”

 

The Redguard woman looked as confused as he felt. “I’ve no idea. The Jarl called for us citizens. Said he has some news to convey.”

 

What could he have to say. It must be very important. The war with Stormcloaks was more or less over, their leader Ulfric was dead.

 

Healer’s wild speculations came to a halt when the Jarl of Whiterun descended down the upper stairs of Cloud District. He stopped just above the level of the crowd so everyone could see him.

With raised hand, he made the crowd go quiet. The Jarl suddenly smiled widely. “Rejoice, everyone! Our mortal enemy, the Thalmor are no more! They were beaten, no obliterated by the Dragonborn and his close associates at the battle that will be known as Battle at Blacklight. The Dragonborn won us back our freedom and sovereignty. All hail, Dragonborn!!”

 

The crowd cheered, excited and happy that no more family members will be abducted by the Thalmor.

As for Enildil, it took him longer to process what the Jarl said. Right now, he needed to be alone. To think.

 

Without giving it much thought, he turned his back on the applauding crowd and walked back to the front gates. Before he could leave, however, he was confronted face to face with a Nord warrior he saw before at Jorrvaskr. Vilken or something was his name.

He shortly nodded and left, the Hold guards shut the gates behind Enildil who needed to take a breather. He walked past the stables, the farms and into the wilderness. He didn’t stop until he saw a lone guard watchtower. He climbed all the way up to the top, where he stopped in his tracks.

 

Enildil knew this was the moment he was waiting for over the past ten years. 

His stomach growled, reminding him he needed food. And he really ought to see Danica and tell her he won’t possibly be coming back to the Temple of Kynareth.

 

Climbing down the stairs of the crumbling watchtower, he felt a surge of hope.

 


End file.
